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| LIGHT-WINGED Smoke! Icarian bird, | |
| Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight; | |
| Lark without song, and messenger of dawn | |
| Circling above the hamlets as thy nest; | |
| Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form | 5 |
| Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts; | |
| By night star-veiling, and by day | |
| Darkening the light and blotting out the sun; | |
| Go thou, my incense, upward from this hearth, | |
| And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame. -H.D. Thoreau |

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